I leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trustie trie; But first it bow'd, and syne it brake, And sae my true love did lyghtlie me. O waly waly gin love be bonny And says he'll never loe me mair. Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed, The sheits shall neir be fyl'd by me: Saint Anton's well sall be my drink, Since my true love has forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves aff the trie? O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum? For of my life I am wearie. "Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. Whan we came in by Glasgowe town, But had I wist before I kisst, That love had been sae ill to win, Oh, oh! if my young babe were borne, DUNCAN GRAY. DR. Blacklock informed me that he had often heard the tradition that this air was composed by a carman in Glasgow. Duncan Gray cam here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blythe yule night when we were fou, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. *This song is quoted in a musical medley published in 1600. Maggie coost her head fu' high, Duncan fleech'd and Duncan pray'd: Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig* Ha, ha, &c. Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his e'en baith bleert and blin, Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ; Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha, &c. Slighted love is sair to bide, Ha, ha, &c. Shall I, like a fool, quo' he, For a haughty hizzie die; She may gae to-France for me! Ha, ha, &c. How it comes let doctors tell, Ha, ha, &c. A well-known rock in the frith of Clyde. Meg grew sick-as he grew heal, Something in her bosom wrings, And O, her e'en, they spak sic things! Duncan was a lad o' grace, Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha, &c. Duncan could na be her death, Now they're crouse and canty baith, DUMBARTON DRUMS. THIS is the last of the West Highland airs; and from it, over the whole tract of country to the confines of Tweed-side, there is hardly a tune or song that one can say has taken its origin from any place or transaction in that part of Scotland.-The oldest Ayrshire reel, is Stewarton Lasses, which was made by the father of the present Sir Walter Montgomery Cunningham, alias Lord Lyle; since which period there has indeed been local music in that country in great plenty.-Johnie Faa is the only old song which I could ever trace as belonging to the extensive county of Ayr. TODLEN HAME. THIS is, perhaps, the first bottle song that ever was composed. When I've a saxpence under my thumb, Then I'll get credit in ilka town: But ay when I'm poor they bid me gae by; O! poverty parts good company. Todlen hame, todlen hame, Coudna my loove come todlen hame? Fair-fa' the goodwife, and send her good sale, As round as a neep* come todlen hame, |